How Much Lost
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: The universe has taken so much. Archer breaks.


Disclaimer: I own nothing in this piece. If I did, the whole mess I'm writing about would never have happened.

A/N: Did anyone think that Archer was maybe too okay in "These Are the Voyages?" Everything seemed repressed. This is my response to that. It's very loosely a companion piece to "How Far Fallen."

**How Much Lost**

He arrives in his quarters a broken man. The glasses are still there, half-full of Cochrane's whiskey.

He sits and picks up his glass. Downing it, he wishes that Trip was still alive, that he could turn back time, that there was something he could do to stop the ache in his soul. Because Trip was never one to waste good whiskey, he finishes the other glass too.

It's been over six years since he felt so much despair, but even then there was hope. For then, Trip had been alive. He wanted a transfer, but he was alive. Now, there is no hope, no possibility for the future to hold something better for their friendship.

Jonathan Archer has considered Trip Tucker his best friend for over two decades. He is without an anchor, now. There is simply a throbbing void where Trip should be.

T'Pol asked if she could pack his belongings, and Jon said yes. He never entirely understood the dynamics of their relationship, but T'Pol would not have asked if it did not mean a great deal to her.

Besides, he doesn't think that he could handle it for at least a week, and they don't have that long. Perhaps he'll stop by when she should be almost done.

He rolls the glass in his hand. Such a short time ago, Trip was toasting with it. Jon can't banish the last image if Trip from his mind. Not the sight of his body, but when he was alive, going into the chamber. He really thought that Trip would pull through, then. Hadn't he always? The man had come closer to death more than anyone else on _Enterprise_. Once or twice, he had actually died. But he always came back.

Not this time, though.

When Trip requested a transfer, he had been tempted to throw the glass against the wall. He hadn't, though, because he knew that it wouldn't stop anything. His train of thought is interrupted by the door chime.

"Come in," he says automatically, putting the glass down. Hoshi steps through the door. She's obviously been crying.

"I'd tell you I came to see if you're alright, but I don't think any of us are," she says.

"No," he agrees. "We will be, someday, but not now."

"Someday," Hoshi replies slowly, almost as though she doesn't believe him. He walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "I just can't believe it," she says as fresh tears run down her face.

Despite his best effort, tears of his own run down. "Neither can I. It feels like I'm in a horrible nightmare, and any moment I'll wake up."

She has known him long enough to pull him into a hug. He doesn't know if it's for her comfort or his. After a moment, she pulls back and looks up at his face. "Trip was a good man, a good friend. We have to…" it takes her a few seconds to regain her composure, "…remember all the good times."

"There were a lot of good times," he concedes. He's trying to be strong, and tells himself that it's for her, but he knows that's a lie. He's trying to be strong because he doesn't know what will happen when he breaks, and doesn't want anyone to see.

She wipes the tears from her eyes, but new ones follow them quickly. "Yes," she sobs. "He always made sure." A deep breath follows. "He made sure we had good times, and laughed, and enjoyed…" the tears finally overwhelm her, and she can't say anything else. They hug again before she turns to leave.

"Hoshi," he says before the door shuts, "we won't forget." The shadow of a smile breaks out for a brief second, and then it's gone from her face. The door closes.

For several minutes he stands there, thinking. He curses the aliens for their greed, Shran for thinking that their ships were slow and for involving _Enterprise_ in the whole mess to being with, and even Trip for being such a selfless hero. Most of all, though, he curses himself for not doing more. Something, _anything _more, as long as Trip was still alive.

He picks up the glass, not bothering to think this time. When he throws it, he screams. It shatters against the wall, and the pieces slide down, leaving damp whiskey trails on the wall.

Tears turn into sobs. Suddenly he's trying to pick up the pieces of the glass, not because he cares about the mess but because it was _Trip's_ glass. Why didn't he throw his own? He's sobbing and picking up the pieces of glass, and in his hands the residual whiskey is mixing with salty tears, and he doesn't know how long it's been since he felt this much pain or cried so hard.

Piling the shards of glass on the table, he notices that one of the pieces is pink. A small laceration on his thumb is the cause, but if it hurts at all, he can't tell because the pain of losing Trip, of not doing more, of simply _breaking_ is more than he can bear. He sticks the tip of his thumb in his mouth, and the blood and whiskey and tears all mix. The cut doesn't bleed anymore.

The sobs are racking his body. There's nothing he can do, nothing in the universe, and being Trip's best friend, being the captain, there's still nothing. He hates feeling helpless, but his anger and helplessness are wrapped up with his sorrow, and he doesn't know where one ends and another begins. In less than two days he has to give a speech, and why he thought of it he doesn't know, but he doesn't know how he'll do it without Trip there, without looking as bad as he feels.

Jon throws his own glass against the wall, but this time he's crying too hard to scream. It makes a satisfying sound as it hits the wall.

And as he sobs and mourns and hates, he wonders how much more the universe will ask of him, and for the first time in his life he wonders if space is worth it. He knows that Trip would be the first to tell him that it is, and in the morning he will think so too, but now all he can think is that it has taken so much, and given so little.


End file.
